The Mirror of Erised
by luckyluckylucky
Summary: Why does Dumbledore lie to Harry about what he sees in the mirror? What dirty secrets does Dumbledore hide from the world? In light of recent events, this scene just makes a hell of a lot more sense. Read and Review!


The Mirror of Erised

Based on chapter 12 of the Sorcerer's Stone

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Ah, young Harry Potter was back again, tossing his priceless cloak to the ground in his haste to see those whom he had never known, and could never want more in his entire life. Albus Dumbledore sat on the edge of a desk resting against the wall, surveying him quietly, as the boy let out a breath of release and sank to the floor, his eyes glued to the mysterious reflection enclosed within the ornate golden frame. He pitied the boy, Albus suddenly realized. Almost as much as he pitied himself. It could not go on. 

"So—back again, Harry?"

The boy jumped badly and looked behind him, guilty terror in his glowing green eyes. Harry gazed at Albus, horrified, and then stuttered, "I—I didn't see you, sir."

Albus chuckled. All the first years arrived like this, timid and terrified. They grew out of it, of course, but it always amused him to see how easily frightened they were. "Yes, strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," he said lightly, and the frozen expression on Harry's face thawed slightly in response to the kind smile. Albus slid off the desk and crossed the room, folding himself gracefully to the floor next to Harry. "So, you, like hundreds before you," including himself, "have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir," the boy mumbled, at a loss for words, his bright eyes locked on Albus'.

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?" His teachers had commented on how intelligent the boy was, except for, of course, a very irate Severus Snape, who Albus suspected strongly was simply affected by the unpleasant memories he had of James Potter.

"It—well—it shows me my family—"he struggled, but he was clearly thinking hard. This must have been the first time young Harry had really thought about the mysterious, fantastic images the mirror reflected.

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy," Albus prodded.

"How did you know--?" Harry asked in wonder, his eyes very wide. Innocent.

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," Albus gently cut him off, and the boy's eyes grew, if possible, even wider. He could practically see the wild thoughts cart-wheeling through the boy's head; the magical world was still such a wonder to him.

"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" a generalization. Perhaps he will realize…

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

The boy sat silently, his brow furrowed. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want…"

Harry's words sent an ache through his chest. If only… He could see Ariana again… and his heart's desire wouldn't ever again show him the bright, mischievous smile and sparkling grey eyes that brought him back to the long-ago age of seventeen, accompanied by all the pangs of adolescence and confusion, and pure strength of love and following pain… But it was so pointless to think about him. It was impossible, no matter how convincingly the mirror played out his deepest desire, his only real desire, one that he had been trying to eradicate from the day he met Gellert Grindewald.

"Yes, and no," he answered quietly. "It shoes us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our own hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

He forced himself to gaze into the gleaming surface of the mirror, and sucked in a breath. There was his youthful self, strong and handsome, although ignorant and arrogant, kissing his gorgeous best friend Gellert passionately, clutching at the golden, lightly curling hair at the nape of his neck. And the most seductive thing about this image was the fact that Gellert was embracing him just as tightly, his soft lips moving against Albus' seventeen-year-old self just as eagerly.

Albus, aged as ever, was struck by the contrast. He was captivated by this scandalous, titillating image; next to him, eleven-year-old Harry was equally captivated by an innocent, pure image of his deepest desire…

He felt his face flush with shame, and he said sharply, "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," Somewhere he could not access it quite as easily, to serve a dual purpose. To keep Albus' thoughts away from the-kiss-that-never-was, and to protect the Sorcerer's stone, just as he promised Nicholas. "I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it," as unlikely as that will be, "you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

The next thing out of Harry's mouth made Albus' mouth go dry. "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Albus gazed observantly into Harry's wide, innocent eyes. One so young and innocent could never know of such a dirty pleasure of his revered headmaster. So Albus, thinking quickly, lied as casually as possible,

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks." Harry stared blankly, unsure whether Albus was joking or not. It was definitely to Albus' advantage that the boy was so young and naïve.

"One can never have enough socks," Albus said lightly. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books." Which was true, they did. But they were indeed excellent books.

"Okay," Harry said hesitantly, and Albus wondered if the boy would send him a pair of socks next Christmas. "I've got to go now, sir." Harry grabbed his cloak and carefully covered himself with it before fleeing.

Albus sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. His mirror self met his eyes and smirked, his fingers finding the clasp of Gellert's cloak and letting it drop into a crumpled heap. Albus closed his eyes for a moment, and his fingers found his wand. He transfigured a nearby desk into a large sheet, which he covered the mirror with, hiding his secrets.

There were some things that not even he could bear to gaze upon.

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**So, this was a scene that, in light of recent discoveries, just made a hell of a lot more sense, so I just HAD to write it from Dumbledore's point of view. And besides, I KNEW that Albus never had a thing for McGonagall! Always knew it was nonsense.**

**Please, review!**


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